The day truth stood on its head
by tea break
Summary: What happens when what you considered to be only in children's fairytales proves to be real? And how do you cope with it?


It started quite innocently one summer and it changed my life forever. In fact if it didn't happen to me I'd never believed it to be possible. At that time I worked as an intern in a small publishing company in Paris and along with all my Parisian colleagues I had free Wednesday afternoons. During my first weeks I just aimlessly wandered the streets and parks being still puzzled by a sudden amount of free time in the middle of a week. I watched bunch of chic Parisians having a pique-nique on the grass, lovers snogging each other in all possible (and impossible) places and felt absolutely lonely. I envied even old ladies chatting on banks or old gentlemen playing pétang in the park.

Normally being alone wouldn't bother me much. I had always been an outsider and was quite used to it. But Paris is a really bad place for outsiders. If you have no friends the city will easily swallow you along with zillion other anonymous people. Don't get me wrong the Parisians are really nice people and would love to have a small talk with you about today's weather or recommend you their favourite patisserie but if you are not Parisian (or French) enough they will never invite you to join their pique-nique.

As weeks passed by I figured out that free Wednesday afternoons however lonely they may seem at first were not bad at all. They were designed to be spent at cafés with a mug of hot chocolate or a really small cup of coffee. Actually I started to have a suspicion Café owners invented them to help them raise their profit. Somehow at Wednesdays the scent of _chocolat chaud_ was more tempting than usual and black boards with special offers popped out of nowhere. So one particularly hot Wednesday afternoon when my legs refused to carry me any further I finally let myself be absorbed by one „Café chez Michel" for a glass of Ice Tea. Little did I know I will never get my Ice Tea simply because they didn't have one.

"Café chez Michel" was not a typical Parisian café. In fact it didn't look like a café at all. The only window, which was very small and dirty, let barely any sunlight in and with no lamps or chandeliers this place was dark as a tomb. After the blinding light outside it took me a moment to actually see anything at all. Had I stopped for a moment to think of what I saw I would realize there was something very unusual (almost suspicious) about this Café and I would probably go somewhere else but then there would be no story...

Instead I just accepted that there was not much to see because Café chez Michel could be simply described as too many chairs stuffed in too little space. The fact they somehow managed to squeeze there also three battered tables (each one with set of three chairs), several shelves with cups and glasses of all shapes and sizes and one weary looking waiter in a space the size of a bigger wardrobe was beyond my comprehension.

I tripped over the nearest chair and immediately sit down on it. I probably wouldn't be able to go any further anyway. It was physically impossible. Despite my noisy entrance the waiter didn't let himself be disturbed from his intent staring at one exact spot on the wall. I looked there as well but didn't see anything particularly interesting if I don't count an old painting of a very ugly looking old man in a pink wig.

"Ehm...excuse me?" I called in my best imitation of French accent trying to gain the waiter's attention. No reply.

"Excuse me!" I almost shouted. No response. The waiter didn't twitch a muscle. If I hadn't been very exhausted and thirsty I would have probably just walked away to look for another Café. But my legs didn't obey me any more and if I wanted to leave I would have to crawl. I was on the verge of tears.

"Please, Monsieur, I am really thirsty and exhausted..." I pleaded. "I will pay you an extra tip if you bring me an Ice Tea right now..." I tried to negotiate but I could have just as well talked to a wall. The waiter was as still as a frozen chicken. I just started to wonder whether by any chance he died in his chair when I heard a light chuckle from the corner of the room. I yelped.

"I sorry. I didn't wanted to scare you, Madame." A male voice apologized in bad French with strong British accent. I followed the voice and realized with a start that there was actually a man sitting in the opposite corner of the tiny room. He must have been there all the time yet I still managed to ignore him somehow.

"He don't hear you. He deaf." He continued in amused voice. In the shade of the room I couldn't make out his features but judging by the voice he must have been young.

"Oh, thank you." So the waiter is alive after all. Good.

"You need your hand waving before his attention."

What? "Do you speak English?" I blurred out before I could stop myself. It wasn't very polite but his French was really pitiful and I desperately needed a drink.

"Yes, I do." He replied with relief. "Was I that bad?"

I wanted to say YES but then I stopped myself and decided to change the subject instead.

"What am I supposed to do to gain his attention then?" I asked matter-of-factly.

He started to laugh. "My French must be really awful. I already told you that. You have to wave your hand right in front of his nose to gain his attention."

"Aha." I exclaimed relieved and was about to outstretch my hand to wave at the waiter when I realized I'm the rudest companion ever. "Your French wasn't bad at all I'm just too exhausted to decipher it." It didn't come out well.

He laughed again. "Now I feel loads better!"

I laughed nervously. Great. I already managed to insult several times a person that was trying to help me. That's exactly the reason why I prefer to be alone.

It took me a few moments to overcome my mortification and be able to stick my hand in front of me so the waiter could see it. He started at once as if I just ambushed him in dark alley. When he calmed down he started to shout with all his might: "WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, MADEMOISELLE?"

„One Ice Tea, please." I replied exerting all my will power not to cover my ears.

„Ice bee? We don't have ice bees, Mademoiselle." He apologized.

„That's fine with me. What I want is an ICE TEA." I snapped impatiently, shouting the last two words at the top of my lungs.

„Ace tea? Never heard of that either." Waiter chuckled.

„Michel, bring Mademoiselle a glass of pumpkin juice." The stranger intervened and with a start I realized he was now sitting on a chair right next to me. „I'm sorry for changing your order but they surely don't have Ice Tea here." He smiled amusedly. His eyes were a strange shade of green and seemed to sparkle despite the dim light of the room.

„It's...it's OK." I beeped unsure of what to do or say next. I was trapped in a dark small room with a total stranger who will probably be sitting on my lap the next time I look and instead of a cold Ice Tea I would get myself a pumpkin juice...who in their right mind would want to drink a juice made of pumpkins in the middle of summer, anyway? Me, apparently.

I smiled nervously at the stranger and tried to tell him wordlessly not to get any closer to me or I might start to scream. Not that it would help me much. He smiled back at me. It was a genuine smile and surprisingly it somehow consoled me. When my pumpkin juice finally arrived I drank him in one gulp and immediately asked for another one. It turned out to be excellent refreshment and after my third glass I felt like a new-born. My companion was watching me intently the whole time and I felt my cheeks started to redden.

"Would you mind stop staring at me." I blurted out finally, one gallon of pumpkin juice giving me a false sense of authority.

He raised his brows, obviously taken aback by my outburst and immediately averted his eyes to the opposite side of the room. "I…I am sorry" He stuttered.

"No, I didn't…I don't…oh, God, I am not usually like this. I am just not used to people staring at me. I am sorry." I felt terrible. What is wrong with me? I used to be able to communicate with people without actually insulting them all the time.

"I know exactly what you mean." He nodded and smiled but didn't dare to look back at me.

"Really? You don't seem like an introvert type." I announced before I could stop myself. Oh, God. Since when has my mouth become a sour?

"Likewise" He retorted, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

I deserved this but it still stung. "I think I'd better go." I muttered, my cheeks on fire again. I took my wallet and waved it in the air to catch the waiter's attention again. When he came he handed me a handwritten card with an odd message: "one galleon and thirteen sickles."

I tried to keep my calm and forced a smile, "Poetry, well, that is very kind of you." I tried to sound really sincerely. "Now, would you be so kind as to tell me _how much do I owe for my drink?"_ I said the last part very slowly and clearly to make sure he would understand. He looked at me confused.

"It's on the bill, Mademoiselle." He answered unsurely.

I looked again at the paper to make sure there wasn't anything else apart from the little poem, or whatever it was, but I found nothing. I sighed, resigned. I handed the waiter my whole wallet and let him take the right amount himself. He looked puzzled at me and when I urged him on he eyed my money suspiciously.

"They're real, you know." I attempted a joke.

But he wasn't paying me any attention as he was shaking his head at my companion. "A Muggle?"

The young man at my table nodded and then handed him few weird coins. "I'll take it. You didn't even want pumpkin juice in the first place." He winked at me. I felt like I am missing an important piece of information and didn't like it.

"Thank you very much, but it wouldn't be necessary." I tried to force my wallet to the waiter again, but the stranger stopped my hand.

"I insist. You can pay next time." He smiled at me, his eyes twinkled and I was suddenly torn between the strong urge to run away as fast as I could and irresistible itch to kiss him. It took me completely by surprise and for a whole I was just staring at my hands feeling my cheeks getting stubbornly redder.

"Thank you…" I finally found my voice, and then realized that I still don't know his name.

"Harry, my name is Harry." He supplied, as if reading my mind.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I am Elisa." I offered him my hand and he shook it.

"What about next Wednesday then?" He teased, and I knew I want to see him again.

"Next Wednesday is fine with me." I beamed looking straight into his piercing green eyes. And thus my adventure started, even though at that time I had no idea what was in store for me.


End file.
